Journeys: An Orphan and a Bastard
by Kaitie00
Summary: Arya and Gendry have been travelling across the realm for almost three years, but everything's about to change and their journey will soon be over. Rated for language, violence and sexual situations. Jon turns up later, mild spoilers through aDwD. 12chaps
1. Journeys One

**Journeys: An Orphan and a Bastard**

**Rating**: M, for language, violence and sex.

**Pairing**: Arya/Gendry

**Setting**: Roughly three years after Gendry found the Brotherhood and the Hound found Arya. I've changed things up though, so definitely AU and not-canon.

**Spoilers**: General up to and including aDwD (although I've yet to read aDwD!)

**Disclaimer**: I own none of the characters appearing in this fic. They belong to GRRM and I love him for them. I make no money and would never wish to make money from his creations. On the other hand, please don't post this anywhere else without my permission, thank you!

**Comments**: I have no idea where this fic came from. It appeared randomly and forced me to write it. Take note, I have never written anything in this style or form whatsoever! I love every review, but would prefer no flames, please. I'm in GRRM's world in this fic, and I'm following rules I see that he has established, not that I believe exist in today's world. I am also using a pen-name for my Game of Thrones/ASOIAF stories; this is not my second! The first scene occurs and then time shifts backwards in Chapter two.

**Journeys: An Orphan and a Bastard**

The unusually warm sun started to stir Arya from her sleep and she fought opening her eyes. It had been days since she had truly felt the sun and she did not want to think it was just a dream; she was a child of summer. Shifting slightly against the ground, her cloak underneath her to stop the grass from itching, Arya felt something heavy thrown across her waist pulling her tightly to a warm body behind her. Still half sleeping, Arya sighed and smiled at the warmth behind her and upon her face. They had been travelling for four days since the last friendly inn and been on the cold ground ever since. With only one change of clothes each and a cloak each between them, they slept fully clothed with a cloak under and above them, close side by side to preserve some heat. After all the years of travelling the realm together, the closeness bothered neither of them, but it was only ever as close to touch when the ground was their bed. Ever since a night at an inn where a group of men had come upon Arya alone, soon knocking her to the muddy floor in the dark, covering her with bruises and trying to take her without any coin, they had resumed sharing a bed in inns. They fell asleep separately in the inns, but gravitated towards each other during the dark hours, until one woke up. He always thought that he was the first to awake, quickly turning away from her and rising from the bed to journey out of the room. Whenever she asked him where he went, he would grunt the word _walk_ and they both left it at that. The truth was, she always awoke first, enjoying the warmth and weight of his arm slung over her, but she let him believe what he wanted.

He shifted in his own sleep in response to her movement and his arm moved brushing against her bare belly, sending waves of fire through to her core. During the dark his arm had found its way underneath her clothing for the first time. Over their years she had felt his skin on her, but normally on like for like, or his hands on her waist lifting her from one place to another, restraining her from a fight she should not enter. His hand twitched across her teat and the fire burnt stronger within her. Arya's eyes remained closed as she unconsciously arched her chest toward his hand, her ass backwards into his groin. It was a reflex and Arya was unaware from where it came, but ever since her first moon's blood Arya had not understood much of what her body did or felt. His breath was suddenly on her neck and she bared it more for him, rubbing as she continued arching. She knew that he was asleep and that as soon as he awoke he would pull away; she was a lady after all. Everything had been changing since her first blood and Arya refused to allow the moment to end for she knew that he would pull away and go for his _walk_.

Until his hand contracted, gently squeezing the teat now fully within its grasp and Arya let out a low moan. They were hidden within the trees, the dawn sun streaming through the leaves above, but there could still be anyone anywhere and as such Arya split her focus equally; a skill learned after more than three years living on the land. Then his lips brushed against her neck so softly that she was not sure if it actually happened. The hand began massaging her and she groaned low in her throat again certain that he was aware and awake as he kissed her neck before rolling her onto her back. Her eyes fluttered open, half lidded as she looked into his half-open eyes. There were only inches between them, she could see the sun bathing his face in yellow gold and she reached her hand up to touch his warm cheek. As he slowly lowered his face to hers, there was a smile on both of their faces as their lips met gently and almost chastely at first. Her reflex was to part her lips before he could and so she did, of which he took full advantage by hardening and deepening the kiss. His cock pressed hard and firm against her belly and his hand left her teat to find her hip, immediately snaking its way under her clothing. Moving her own hands to her hips, Arya shifted out of her breeches slightly, managing to free a leg without hassle. Once free, her hips moved upwards of their own accord, pressing against him; he ground down onto her briefly before he used one hand to still her hips and the other to hold his upper body up.

Suddenly bereft when he broke the kiss, Arya tried to not break the spell by opening her eyes too wide. His face was far too close to her and her eyes closed again, his forehead resting against hers as his breathing came faster than it should. She had seen him run for his life, run into battle against multiple foes, ride a horse all day and never heard his breathing that erratic.

"This shouldn't be happening," he whispered hoarsely as his voice always was when he first awoke. "Not here. Not now."

"There is no other time." Her voice was as hoarse as his and she realised her own breathing was as irregular as his. She did not understand. Altering the angle of her head, she met his lips and opened his with her tongue, allowing it to dart in deep. His hands moved to his own groin as her arms wrapped up and around his shoulders, forcing him closer. Quickly his cock was no longer up against her belly and as he groaned into her mouth, he moved into her body until she winced against him and their second kiss ended.

"I shouldn't be hurting you." Relaxing her eyes as the pain diminished, she opened them to look at him. "This shouldn't be happening. Not here. Not me. Not your… I shouldn't be taking your…"

"My maidenhead is mine to give, not sold to the Lord deemed suitable by my Lord-father or the crown." She paused and swallowed her nerves. "It has always been yours."

"No maidenhead should ever be mine. I should know only whores, not of ladies and highborns."

"I am no lady or highborn anymore. I can never be Arya Stark."

"But you should be wed," he protested. The pain meant that he already had her maidenhead, of that Arya was sure through all of her confusion. Her body was acting of its own accord, had been craving his body since her bleeding and she understood none of it, but she knew she wanted to feel it all. "It should not be some bastard hurting you on the cold ground."

"Just be gentle," she urged and he shook his head.

"I have the hands of a smith, I know not how to be gentle, m'lady." At the term that only he could say to elicit a smile from her, she stretched up and kissed him, as fully and deeply as she could without consuming him whole. He groaned into her mouth and pushed himself slowly, further into her until there was no further. Once there he paused and pulled his lips from hers so as he spoke they still brushed together: "Does it hurt?"

It was only a sting, like a slight glance from a sword or dagger and it was already fading from inside. Smiling her lips against his, Arya ground upwards against him and almost laughed at his groan. With a sword in her hand, Arya never felt weak no matter how tall or large the men were. With a sword in her hand, Arya held all the power. It was not until his cock was buried deep inside of her, her hips spurring him on to thrust into her repeatedly, slowly at first, that she felt truly powerful.

GOT – GOT – GOT


	2. Journeys Two

**A few months earlier...**

They were at an inn, a friendly one this time, staying for the second night with plans afoot for leaving the next morning. The people were friendly, far friendlier than any of the inns further south and they were both glad to be moving north. She had retired to bed earlier, he had only allowed it because they both felt safe because he tried to not let her out of his sight. From the little boy she had once been, he could not help but notice how she would never pass for a boy again. For that he was both sad and glad. The months had passed by in blurs to them both, name days had been forgotten and only villagers with a sense of passing time were able to keep their heads straight as to how old they could each be. He was sure it would not be long until she was a woman grown, but that only brought him concern.

In every village through which they passed, he saw how all eyes turned to her. In the three years since he had first met Arry, her hair had grown and she often kept it braided to not be in her way. Once, he had asked her why she kept it long and she had grabbed a dagger to cut if off, but his hand stopped her. She had grinned and put the dagger down refusing to answer his question. As her femininity increased by the day, so too did the danger they were in from the men they passed. There were whores in every village, but only whorehouses in some. It was in the latter that he feared for her safety although even in the friendliest of villages anyone could sweep her off on their horse. The realm was still at war, horrendously so, and danger still lurked everywhere for both of them. She had always been more skilled at fighting than he, but he at least had strength. His fears for her were what consumed his dark hours.

"Your sister, she's a pretty one." Gendry looked up at the blonde curls of the wench sitting upon his lap. He paid them no attention, had never taken one to bed since leaving King's Landing, but where there were men drinking, there were wenches sitting. Arya hated it, her cheeks burned every time one sat upon him.

"Different mothers," he lied despite their both being dark haired and passable as brother and sister. "But she's mine to protect."

"I got my own room."

Placing his hands around her hips, Gendry lifted her up and off to stand and he stood too, watching her confusion turn to a smile and then back to confusion as he finished his mead and moved past her. "Not tonight." Avoiding the disappointed look on her face as there were no other men with empty laps for her to move onto, Gendry quickly made his way up to the small room. During the early days of their travelling together, when she was just Arry to him, they had slept closely, but they all had, all the boys destined for the Wall and the Night's Watch, for the heat and lack of space inside barns. He had made the conscious decision after suspecting Arry was a girl to keep her away from the others. The Night's Watch had honourable men in it, Gendry knew that for sure, but those travelling with them were not with choice. They were all, barring himself and Arry, criminals in one way or another. The Watch had its own number of rapers and murderers, yet that was still were their journey was taking them.

Entering their room, Gendry saw the sole bed that he had uncomfortably shared the previous night. It was large enough for two, given Arya's smaller size, but Gendry preferred more distance between them. Just as his own age was forgotten in the blur of time passing, the moment when inappropriate thoughts first entered his mind was long forgotten. Her hips had been filling out, her chest rising more prominently when her breathing was heavy from riding or fighting. Each time they trained together and he felt her too close to him, because it was always her that won, he moved away first as her smell filled him. They still wrestled and tickled, she would still bite and kick to free herself, both of them collapsing with laughter, but he knew those days needed to end. The day before, after tying the horses, their playful wrestle had left him lying on her and his eyes fixated on her lips. It would not be long before he did the unthinkable and cross a line no bastard should with a highborn lady.

He was a bastard orphan, given to a smith as an apprentice and had little coin for anything other than learning his craft, but Gendry had known a whore or two and how women were around men. Arya had seen more than her years and birthright should have, but she was still innocent and a child in the world of men. The moment he had first suspected Arry of being a girl, he had promised to look after her against the rapers of the men destined for the wall and now he still had to keep that promise, but to keep her safe from the world of men. That world included him.

As he began to undress, removing his shirt first, he noticed the lump in the bed which was Arya and he smiled longingly at the space next to her, wishing that it could all be so different. He wanted her safe in Winterfell, an impossibility now, and he wanted to be highborn and worthy of her. He wanted to meet her when she was of age, their lives to be pure and not filled with running and death. Leaning backwards against the wooden door, Gendry closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards until a noise at the window forced his eyes open. Climbing in through them was the girl he needed to protect and anger bubbled up within him.

"What in seven hells are you doing?"

Closing the window behind her, she shrugged at him to infuriate him further. "I needed the night air."

"You're not to be out alone. Are you a fool?"

"As little as you are stupid. No one saw. Everyone's got a whore in front of their eyes down there," she spat in disgust. "Including you."

He narrowed his eyes at her. She always turned it all back on him and he always bit. This time he would not, remaining silent and looking away from her. The irritation was clear on her face. Neither of them moved, both as stubborn as the other, eventually she calmed.

"Why do wenches sit upon men's laps?"

"To be close to them." Arya began approaching him, stopping far too close for his comfort, but Gendry was up against the door, unable to move.

"And you like that?" He nodded at her question, unable to trust his voice. "Why do you not like me so close?" His eyes met hers and desperately he wanted to see a reflection of his own in them.

"Until you understand why they sit upon a lap, you won't understand my answer," he growled at her. The dim-light in the room played shadows across her face that turned and changed with her expression. From peaceful innocence into angry spite, her eyes changed too. "Did your Septa teach you nothing in your highborn Lord's castle? You know nothing, girl."

"I know nothing?" she spat in response, unaware of what had made him angry. "I know that they do it to rub their cunts against your cock. And you like it."

"Then why ask?"

"Because I don't know why. Is it for the men, or because the cunts like it?"

"Stop using that word," he whispered. Ladies should not use such language.

"What? Cunts? Why not? Got one, haven't I? And one day I'll rub my cunt against some man's cock. Though I don't know why."

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pushed her away and spun her, slamming her against the wall and pinning her there. From anyone else Gendry would expect to see fear upon their face, but Arya still stared at him defiantly, willing him to anger further. "No," he growled. "No, you will not."

"I'm two and ten, not nine any more. I'm almost a woman grown."

"You've been saying that since you've been nine," he argued still holding her firmly as she squirmed with no real effort. "And if you were a woman grown, you'd know what whores do and why we can't sleep close no more."

"Whores fuck with their cunts."

"And ladies keep theirs in their bed."

"Mine is," she argued back and he relaxed his grip at her innocence. It infuriated him more than his inability to touch her did. For all of her ability to be worldly and understand how to fight, how to kill, how to protect herself and survive through everything the world threw at her, she knew nothing about being a woman grown.

"And how do men put babies in bellies?" he asked, refraining from coarse language as he often tried with her despite her current desire to use every vulgar word heard.

"With cocks in cunts."

He growled at her again and grabbed her hand, forcing it down to his groin where his cock was straining against his breeches from their close proximity, in an effort to explain. "In bed, there's both." Confusion covered her face and when she looked back up, her eyes met his with something new in their sheen.

"You don't need a whore." An image of her reddened cheeks every time she saw him with them came to his mind and Gendry stepped away from her, looking down at the bare floor in shame. She was a highborn lady, possibly the heir to Winterfell, but she was still a child trying to be an adult. One night she had spoken of the moment when her father, the hand of the king had been beheaded, her childhood ending as the head rolled. With only assumptions on how her life had been before she had become Arry, Gendry was sure that castle life had not prepared her for a life with rapers and murderers, running from everyone. He could only imagine what her life had been like at Winterfell, just as he could only imagine what Winterfell was even like, but she had been a lady to be, destined to marry a lord and live within castle walls until dying in bed. He did know that Winterfell had its share of bannermen, they had all been fighting for Robb, and she had always been protected by the most honourable of men. Now all she had was him.

There was no mother to wash her cuts. There was no sister to hold her at night. There were no bannermen or Lord Father, or brothers to protect her from the shadows in the night. There was just him, an apprentice smith, who she feared would wander off with a random whore.

"Whores and cunts mean nothing to me. I'm not noble and full of honour like your Lord-Father's bannermen, but I'll come whenever you need. After all these years and what we've been through, I'd've thought you knew that." Refusing to look at her, he turned and got into the bed, leaving his breeches on. "Get into bed, we got an early start and long ride ahead." He rolled onto his side, his back in the middle of the bed and nearest to her, and he closed his eyes shut. It was only a few moments before he felt the feathers shift as she climbed into the bed next to him, keeping her distance, and blew out the candle before she whispered her nightly prayer list of names. Sleep was hard to come with his unease.

GOT – GOT – GOT


	3. Journeys Three

Three moons passed, but their journey north did not progress as fast as it should. The winter was coming thicker and the cold was biting. War still raged around the land and journeys between villages or huts took longer on the darkening days. She knew her family words well, Winter is Coming, but Arya no longer believed them. Winter had already come and it was slowing her down. Soon it would be too cold to sleep outside and without enough knowledge of the land, Arya and Gendry would not be able to risk travelling alone. The North had always been cold, it was in her blood, but Arya had started to fear that she would die in the snow and ice, the cold stealing her final breath in the dead of night. They had not been able to find an inn that night, after a day's hard ride and the horses needed rest, so they found a spot off from the tracks. The trees were dense enough to provide enough cover and enough leaves had fallen from the branches to provide a covering and base for their bed for the night. Despite the cold day, the breath Arya had seen as they had ridden, the night was mild as they had settled down together for heat.

It was a full moon, at its peak in the night sky, when Arya's eyes opened wide in fear and shock. Through the branches, the light of the full moon made shadows all around her as she shrugged off Gendry's arm and sat up. He was snoring softly, unaware of her movement. Since the inn and the whores, a physical distance had remained between them in their sleeping arrangements. Over a moon ago, their wrestles had resumed. He would tickle her, she would bite and kick before they both fell about laughing. Even their words had calmed, with less mocking and fewer smiles between them. Never would she admit it, but Arya had missed him in the time when he kept his distance. He was all that she had.

Looking all around their little camp, the horses were still and resting and only a gentle breeze flew through the trees. Keeping her breathing quiet to listen closer, Arya could not see her breath as she had during the ride. The night was too mild and Arya wondered if that was what had awoken her until a pain racked through her body. Doubling over and opening her mouth in a noiseless scream, Arya felt red hot tears prick her eyes and the pain threatened to consume her. She stumbled to her feet and began to move away, hunched over and unable to straighten herself. Reaching out a hand, the other holding her belly as if it were about to spill out through an unseen hole, Arya found a tree to steady herself and she moved to lean back against it not realising her own disorientation. She reached her hand down towards her legs, feeling a wetness and coolness on her thighs. Opening her hand into the moonlight, it was not water covering her hand for there was a colour to it. She vomited up the meagre supper Gendry had cooked up for her and felt the tears start to spill from her eyes, but she refused to sob out loud.

No wound from training or fight had hurt as she felt, hugging her belly tight in and curling into a ball. For as long as she could remember, Arya had wanted to be nothing like a lady, nothing like Sansa. She had wanted to train with swords, to stand beside men and not sit with her needlework, but her Lady Mother had despaired of her. Many times Arya would have given anything to become a boy, to leave behind the dresses, the curtsies, the manners of a lady. Until she had become Arry and then all she had wanted were the safe confines of Winterfell and any brother to be the Lord and keep her safe. With being Arry, she had become the boy she had always craved, but she was not Arry Stark, son of Eddard and Catelyn. She had become Arry Snow, if anything, orphan and bastard both and neither. Abandoning her gender had not been a desire it had been a necessity. Yoren and the safety of the Night's Watch and the King's Road had passed over two years earlier, for some of it Arry had remained until Arya could fight nature no longer. She had noticed the men watching her, the small mounds that had formed on her chest which sometimes refused to be bound by clothing, and the hips that had grown from nothing. She was nearing three and ten, she was sure, and her body resembled Sansa's in ways Arya never thought possible.

It had been so many moons since she had seen her sister, now a Lannister bride of the Imp and lost to everyone after King Joffrey's murder at his uncle's hands. He had replaced her own Lord Father as Hand of the King, suffering an unhappy end to the role as all hands did. On many nights Arya would think of a long forgotten friend or kin. So many were dead, only Jon Snow remained, but it did not stop her missing them and wishing for them. As the pain continued to rack through her body and tears continued to stream silently down her face, Arya wanted Sansa more than anyone else for she would understand.

She could hear her name being called somewhere far off in a dream as she played in the grounds of her castle. Winterfell should be hers and in her dreams it still was, except her brothers and sister were there too, living the life they had once all shared. Her eyes fluttered open and the dim sun shone through thin cloud and the trees onto her face, helping her to awaken.

"Arry!" the voice called again and she realised it was not a dream. "Arya!"

Gendry sounded so far away when she had barely made it any steps away in the dark. Glancing at her hands in the hope that she had been plagued with night terrors, there was blood staining one hand. She rearranged her clothes to hide any signs and hid her hand deep in a pocket so that Gendry would not know. Standing up and fighting through the slithers of pain which still snaked through her body, she moved towards the voice and soon saw him, a look of pure relief on his face when he saw her. He reached for her and surrounded her with his arms and scent. In that moment it was clear to her that he would truly never leave her, but things would only grow more difficult now that she was a woman grown.

GOT – GOT – GOT

Laughing at a joke made by the men and women sitting around a table in the inn, Arya found herself at ease and relaxed. They had made their way to a village larger than their usual, but all of them seemed small to both Gendry and Arya. She was at the least used to some of the smaller holdfasts around Winterfell, but all his life all Gendry had seen was King's Landing. Despite the circumstances, when Gendry had first seen the smallest place they passed through, Arya had laughed. But then she had laughed when he had first taken to a horse and when he had complained about all the green around them, the way the air smelled. It was a friendlier village than they had been used to, although the further north they travelled the more relaxed the villagers were. War still raged all around them, but since passing the Neck, there seemed to be less.

Her lips and eyes smiled at Gendry as she stood and he nodded at her. The taste of ale was still unpleasant, but it was all most places had to drink; the water was still a problem. Finishing his ale off with a grin and a wink, she walked away and was stopped by the voluptuous woman at the bar beckoning her. Sometimes Arya was strongly reminded of the simple fact that she was from a different life from everyone around her now. The life she had been born into had never been one she desired. She had never been built to be a lady, quite happy that she was the second born girl, but she knew her parents would eventually have made her a lady. They would have married her off to someone, forced her to be a wife in some other castle, unable to have adventures and be like the boys. When King Robert had come for the feast and Arya had been forced to behave more like a little lady, she had wished that she could escape, to be able to be treated like the brothers she so desperately missed now. In the dark of night, as sleep alluded her, Arya would take it all back, every wish and desire, every time she cursed her life and the role she had to fit in. She would give anything to be safely at home, in the walls of Winterfell. She would even wear a dress and agree with any marriage her parents could put forward.

Except, even if she made it back to Winterfell, claiming it for herself as her birthright now that there were no brothers left for her, her parents would never again be able to force her into a dress, force her to sew. She would never be forced into anything ever again, not since Yoren forced her onto the King's Road and chopped off her hair. If the days could be different and had time passed differently, Arya would wear any awful dress her mother could make her sew, but that would never happen again. If she managed to reclaim her home, Arya knew that she would have to become more of a lady, she even knew that would have to marry and become a wife to someone, but as Lady of Winterfell, the decisions would fall to her. The thoughts of marriage did not come to her often especially not before her first moon's blood. Since the night of pain that had changed Arya forever, the thoughts of being a woman grown and marriage were more common. Whenever she was muddy and breathless from training or fighting, or just riding so hard that she felt as if she were flying, Arya would hear her mother's voice telling her that she was a woman grown and had to stop acting like her brothers. Would her Lady Mother and Lord Father have allowed her to choose a Lord Husband? Could there have been someone out there that would have allowed his Lady Wife to still live in adventures?

"Where are you and your companion stayin' tonight?"

"In the barn. We don't need no bed." The barkeep smiled a toothy, dirty grin and Arya smiled back, ignoring the thought of what Catelyn and Eddard would think if they could see her in such an inn, travelling with a bastard boy as her only safety. She even spoke more like the lowborn than a highborn lady to be.

The blonde, curly haired woman eyed her carefully and Arya suddenly felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny. It had started before her blood first came and had only got worse since. Men's eyes were always on her. They all looked at her like she had seen the rapers look at prisoners during the earlier days of their journey north. Now the woman was looking at her in the same way. "You shouldn't be sleepin out there, we got rooms in 'ere. Young girls like you need to be careful out there. Trust that man, do you? He your brother?" Arya looked over at him, still laughing with the men of the village and some of the women still there, too.

Nodding, Arya answered, "Some what so."

"He should watch you more," the barkeep warned. Arya's eyes remained on her _brother_. Robb was dead, killed at the Twins, far removed from battle. Bran and Rickon, too, in their beds more than likely, in their home of Winterfell most certainly. In truth she had no idea if the last of her kin, Jon, was still alive being on the Wall and in the Night's Watch. There were similarities between Jon and Gendry and not just from their bastard names. They both spoke to her as a person. Robb and Bran had always tried, but had more lessons than Jon, less time to spend with her. All Bran had ever wanted was to be a knight and he had spent his last able bodied months watching Arya beat him with a bow. The only physical act he ever bested her at was the climbing that crippled him; she had never seen him awake before he was murdered. Jon loved her and not just because she was his sister. "There's a whorehouse down the way, they always on the lookout for more young girls. 'Specially them that's on their ways to becoming women."

"He watches me all he needs and, I can take care of myself." Her highborn voice came out with the perfect enunciation that she had been taught.

"Still a maid?" the barkeep laughed, her teats bouncing and repulsing Arya some what. "Some men'll pay a pretty coin for a maid. You best watch yourself." Arya narrowed her eyes and glared at the barkeep who knew nothing about her and huffed out of the inn into the drastically colder night air. They were definitely travelling further North and winter was definitely growing harsher.

GOT – GOT – GOT

**Thanks for all the hits, reviews and story alerts - it means a lot with this fic!**

**P.S A later scene had to be amended after episode 2.05 and shirtless Gendry!**


	4. Journeys Four

Gendry watched her closely as she moved over towards the bar and noticing the barkeep starting a conversation with her. Once, he had asked her why she distanced herself and she explained that it was because she was still learning how to be around these adults, the men who leered at her, the women that glared at her. He saw the looks too, knew the men were lusting and the women jealous, but she had yet to learn that. She was still but a girl. The moment he had realised she was not just a girl hiding as a boy, but a highborn heir to Winterfell no less, Gendry had been mortified at the language he had used with her, the tawdry jokes and comments he and the others had made. Even now, whenever he held his own tongue he knew she flinched inside when someone else was crass. There was no visible sign, but he felt it. Just as he felt it whenever he did forget his manners in front of her. They were both still trying to fit into the other's world, the opportunity for him to truly try within hers had never really been. He already knew what would happen when their journey would end.

They would make it to Winterfell and he would help her take it back. He might die in the process, but he would be damned if he was going to let her die. If he survived to seeing her become Lady Stark, a sight that would have him rolling in the mud with laughter tears streaming down his cheeks, he would step into the shadows and find a home within Winterfell's forge, smithing for his lady. There was no other possibility in their future, he was already well aware of that. Distracted for a moment by the man to his right, when Gendry looked back to Arya she had gone and he immediately stood up to head after her. The night she had gone missing in the forest, when he had awoken alone, it had done nothing but scare him wondering if she had wandered off and got lost. Or perhaps she had been taken out from under his arm as he slept. The next week after, sleep avoided him as he watched her, making sure no one could run off with her.

"Your sister's a pretty little thing," the barkeep called as he walked past and he turned to her. "Bit boyish looking from some angles, but pretty none the less."

"What's it to you?"

"Nowt, was just telling her there's a whorehouse down the way."

"She aint never gonna be no whore."

"She's a maid, ain't she? Some men'll do a lot for that. Even kill older brothers in their sleep. An' she's full grown."

"She's only two and ten," he argued. Time moved too slowly and too fast all at once on the cold, dark, wet days behind and in front of them. Gendry was no longer sure of the month let alone year, his own age long forgotten never minding hers. She had been nine at the start of the King's Road, and surely more than one year had passed since then? But had there been more? Gendry was lost.

"One and ten, three and ten," the barkeep shrugged, "Don't make no difference to the moon's blood. You knew, right? Some men can smell it." She wrinkled her nose up. "I can see it on her. Like how dogs or wolves can, but they can protect themselves, little sisters can't." Gendry knew she had it wrong, Arya was a wolf. "If I was you, I wouldn't let her stay here another night. 'Specially not in no barn. Get yourselves as far away from those men down the way as you can. I've seen what they do." She laughed, her teats wobbling worryingly in her corset. "Or do like what they say the Queen and her Kingslayer did, take your sister's maidenhead yourself."

Without a word, Gendry stormed from the room, his brow darker than the darkest night. He struggled to see in the night, but the moon was near to full and he could see movement near to the barn. There were four or five men, all taller than he was, some were broader, too, but he could see a smaller figure darting in between them and he allowed himself a smile for a brief second. She was the fighter out of the two of them, more skilled than he could ever train to be, but his strength was greater than hers. He enjoyed watching her fight, dancing she sometimes called it, but then he saw her still and fall to the floor in a heap; neither of them saw what hit her. One man's hands grabbed her limp wrist and started to drag her against the rocky ground as the others shared laughter and cursed her for her spirit.

"She's too much trouble," one grunted.

"Nothing's too much trouble when they're a maid," another laughed, following the group.

Rage filled up within him and Gendry reached out for the nearest object, a hammer next to the horse-keep. Running at the five-strong group, he beat them all in a blur of motion and blood and a strength he had never known he fully possessed. Her eyes opened as he stood their panting, hitting the largest, the one who had had her wrist, across the head, the face spinning to see over his shoulder and blood sprayed out in a fan.

"Gendry?" her tiny voice whispered and he was reminded that whatever her age and whether her body had bled or not, she was just a child, a tiny thing that needed protecting. Concerned for her and his own display, the hammer dropped from his hand and he simply stared at his hands. There was blood covering the fallen hammer, covering the five men and even Arya from where she had laid, unconscious, but his hands were clean and dry. Never before had he killed in such a manner, with such an anger and hatred in his gut. "Gendry?" she repeated and he saw her trying to move.

Without a word, his mind still in shock, he moved and bent down, scooping her tiny frame up in his arms and carrying her into the barn. "Sleep," he commanded after putting her down next to him, his hand absently stroking her hair. Focussing his eyes on the doorway, Gendry knew that sleep was not an option after what had happened and after what he had done. He felt like a monster, until her hand crept forward from her own body and rested on his thigh, seeking comfort from him. He ceased stroking her hair and held her hand instead, which she took as an opening to move her head onto his thigh, using it as a pillow and Gendry could not help the small smile he had as her breathing became gentle snores. This was not the life anyone had ever wanted for her and he needed to make sure that she got home, to beds and feather pillows for sleeping, clean clothes and sweet smelling soap, all the girlish things she hated, but the safety that she needed. That was his purpose.

GOT – GOT – GOT


	5. Journeys 5

Aside from the few nights after her attack where Gendry had not slept at all until one night he could fight it no more, every night had them in each other's arms, his wrapped firm around her, protecting her and preventing her from wandering off or being taken from him. She clung onto his arms just as tightly. But that was never how they fell asleep and neither was it how he allowed her to awaken for he always waited until she was asleep before encompassing her in his arms and always awoke and left before the morning dawn woke her. Until the morning of spring in the middle of winter where he had woken to her teat in his hand, her ass in his groin and his mouth on her neck. At first he had blamed sleep on putting his body where it was and for continuing down the path they took. Twice he had tried to stop her. Both times her lips on his made him forget. He had forgotten that he was a low born bastard and she a highborn lady. He had forgotten that they were unwed, that he was privy to taking her maidenhead, that she would forever be tainted by him, marked as his.

In King's landing he had known a few whores, they were nothing like Arya. Arya touched him gently, where the whores had been less so and he had only hoped to be gentle enough in return. If he had ever met the whores' eyes, they were dead behind the smiles and screams. His wolf had not screamed, but each of her groans had made his cock twitch within her and her eyes had shone brightly with life as they locked with his, each of them thrusting in a dance far better than when she danced with swords and daggers. They had been mid kiss, each swallowing the other's groans when his world had splintered and he had grunted down on top of her.

She was pressing sweet kisses to his neck as his breathing came back under his control, their hearts beating against each other where their bodies met as his weight still pinned her beneath him. Shifting he allowed his cock to move free of her and he knelt above her, allowing her to breathe without a weight upon her. Quickly he risked a glancing look of her face and he saw a peace upon it that confused his thoughts as he then pulled away. Reaching down to sort himself out and tie his breeches, Gendry saw blood between her thighs where his own bastard seed spilled from her and he quickly stood, shaking his head.

"I shouldn't have done that." Retrieving his shoes, Gendry walked away from her without risking a glance back and without concern for their separation. No matter what he had ever thought he felt for her, having never truly known a woman before, never truly having a friend nor anyone that cared for him enough other than to get him an apprenticeship, Gendry had always known that he was the lowborn bastard and he always would be. One day she would become someone again, emerging from Arry, Weasel and Nan, even if it was not to be as a traditional lady of a house. She would never make a Lord a good enough wife, but he would never make her a good enough husband and the likes of him should never be more than a smith for a woman grown like her, let alone take her maidenhead.

GOT – GOT – GOT


End file.
